Don't Let The Sun Steal You Away
by BeatnikFreak
Summary: He's kept his promise to a dead man for months now. The summer turns into the autumn and Peter starts to have trouble letting his mind speak louder than his heart. One shot; TAMS-verse.


**Hello.**

**I've been away a long time. Blame school and personal issues and UCAS preparations and my general fallibility.**

**Saw the new Spider-Man film yesterday. Stuck Don't Let The Sun Steal You Away by Cherbourg on repeat. This resulted. **

**Hope you enjoy.**

***BeatnikFreak***

Don't Let The Sun Steal You Away

Life's almost returned to normal.

He goes to school. Takes photos of things that catch his eye. Takes photos of things that don't catch his eye but that he has to photograph for other people. Comes home and lets his aunt make him dinner and mollycoddle him. Does his homework and then crashes into bed.

Turns up late for English every day because that way he doesn't have to talk to her.

Visits the two graves in the cemetery once a week, every week, at the same time.

Swings through the streets of New York in a modified luge runner suit.

Well, he never had been good with normal.

But so it is, and he exists, as summer shifts into autumn and senior year begins.

~#~

He misses her. He misses her a lot. He misses her face her smile her voice holding her kissing her loving her and his thoughts disintegrate every time he lets his heart get free. But he made a promise to a dying man whose death was his fault just like his uncle's and so he must pay penance.

He has to sit behind her in English class. If he ever lets his field of vision stray upwards from his book, the text starts to unravel in front of his eyes and he has to look away. If she speaks, his balance goes funny, as if his ears have become clogged by her distinctive speech.

And every time he sees her walking around school, he wants to zap a bolt of biocable around her waist and reel her in so quick that she knocks the air out of him. He wants her with him, not anyone else.

He wants her back.

~#~

And so, with one sentence about broken promises, he decides to break a promise.

How delightfully meta, as his English teacher would say.

He can tell she's heard him.

He can tell she's smiling.

Suddenly the world seems a lot brighter now.

~#~

The next morning she says hello to him in the corridor. She smiles and he swears he hasn't been this warm in ages.

He stumbles over his reply in a mixture of surprise and his usual awkwardness.

He knows he's got a long way to go, but it's a start.

~#~

She sits next to him at lunch a couple of days later.

They don't talk about it. They talk about Star Wars instead.

They know it's not the time yet.

But it will be.

~#~  
On October first, he leaves a note on her windowsill, and a small box.

He clings to a wall out of sight as she comes in the room and notices the objects on the outside of her window. She freezes for a second, and he worries that he's crossed the line.

But then she smiles, pushing up the sash. He holds his breath as she picks up the box and note.

"I'm an idiot," she reads aloud. She smiles slightly, then turns to the box.

Her delighted laugh is all the gratification he needs.

"Oh, Peter Parker, you cheeseball," she giggles.

He wishes he had his camera as he swings away back onto patrol, the image of her holding a chocolate house one that he doesn't ever want to forget.

~#~

They've slowly been getting to know one another again. Turns out she went to Long Island over the summer, but she didn't enjoy it much.

He can imagine why.

They don't talk about his night time activities, except from when she sees a freshman wearing a Spiderman tee shirt and bites her lip, looking pointedly at him. He tries not to laugh.

Connors is in jail now, but they don't talk about that, either.

~#~

The autumn leaves are starting to turn vermilion and russet and gold. The wind that whips past him at night is noticeably cooler.

The Bugle are running a competition for a high-definition picture of The Spider-Man. They're offering a thousand dollars for it. He's not worried: the suit makes it impossible to identify him, and besides, he's far too quick for anyone to get a decent shot of him.

More importantly, he's too careful. He's taken the Captain's words to heart. He knows that if he's going to be a help to this city, he needs to safeguard his identity.

He's also aware that he needs to safeguard those he cares about. He never exposes his Spideysuit, as he's dubbed it, within a ten block radius of his home. What's more, he's built special sensors which set off a buzzer in an earpiece if anyone other than Aunt May is in the house.

He hopes he never has to use them.

~#~

The Captain did him a favour: the warrant for his arrest had been cancelled by the time Stacey had made it to Oscorp. While the NYPD are still faintly leery of the masked man who shoots webbing out of his wrists, they've stopped chasing him. In fact, he's becoming accustomed to dropping down from a building with a webbed criminal to meet a bunch of the city's finest.

A couple of times, they've even thanked him.

It's nice to be recognised as a good guy for a change.

It doesn't stop it from hurting, though, when the Examiner prints a story with a blurry photograph of him next to Captain Stacey's face under a lurid headline. _SPIDEY: FRIEND OR FOE?_

The article is patently ridiculous. The wounds that had killed the policeman were clearly inflicted by The Lizard, and the entire city had seen Spider-Man fighting the villain in order to save them all.

Nevertheless, the implication that he could have had any hand in Gwen's father's death makes him feel sick.

The fact that he's thinking of the dead man as Gwen's father instead of as the Captain brings it all very close to home. Stacey's words about those you cared for getting hurt suddenly become far too real.

He can't hurt her.

~#~

Senior year means SATS and essays and college transcripts. He's decided to apply for a physics and chemistry major. After all, he can't be a superhero professionally.

He doesn't like referring to himself as a superhero. It seems to him that he's caused enough damage to cancel out any possibility of him being a hero.

But he's got to try to be a hero.

And that involves not hurting Gwen.

Which involves staying away from her.

Which will hurt her in a different way.

He can't win.

~#~

He dodges around her for weeks, unable to find the balance between not hurting her emotionally and not placing her in danger. So he'll talk to her, and then suddenly clam up. Or he'll find himself making some ridiculous excuse and running off.

The last time he freezes in the middle of a conversation, she has enough.

"The rule about promises, Peter," she says quietly, "is that you either break them, or you keep them. There's no in between."

And then _she_ stands up and walks away into the late afternoon sunshine.

She looks as broken as the dry leaves her boots crush underfoot.

And he knows then which option he's going to take.

~#~

The nights have begun to draw in. There's a sharp chill in the air as he leaps across the darkened gap between two rooftops, the wind whipping about his spandex-suited form.

He's just been on patrol, just checking for trouble, just being ready in case the city needs him. It's been a quiet night: nothing except a would-be purse thief who he soon set on the straight and narrow.

He realises he's only two streets away from her apartment building. She is in her apartment, not two minutes away from him as he stands on the edge of an office block's roof. He could easily get there now.

He doesn't consciously make the decision, but he knows he has done as he leaps into the night.

Her fire escape is icy, and if it weren't for how preternaturally sticky his hands and feet are, he would probably be flat on his face right now. As it is, he still feels awkward and gawky as he slides over to her window.

She's curled up on her bed with a book, her knees tucked up into a loose foetal position. He looks at her for a long minute, absorbing how she is into his memory in case this doesn't go right.

And then he knocks on the glass.

She starts, staring at the boy outside her window in his jeans and hoodie and battered jacket. He holds her gaze. Biting her lip, she gets up and walks to the window.

"I was on patrol, and I was two blocks away, and I – uh," he starts to stutter, "I, uh, thought, I uh –" He stops, swallowing so hard that she must have seen his Adam's apple do a triple somersault. "Can I come in?"

She watches him carefully, then nods, moving back so that he can swing his legs into her room. He lands softly, putting his rucksack down on the carpet by her desk chair.

He notices her surveying his attire, and he stumbles to explain. "I was on patrol but I was, uh, I was finished, and I never go near Aunt May's neighbourhood in my spidey suit because I, I think it's safer, you know, just in case, you know?" he finishes lamely.

She cocks her head to one side, reading clearly the meaning in his words. He won't go near her neighbourhood suited up either. Because he cares.

He's painfully aware that she hasn't said anything and that he still hasn't really explained why he's here, so he opens his mouth and starts speaking again. "So I, I, - I made a promise to your dad. I promised him that I'd stay away from you to keep you safe… so I did. So I tried," he amends nervously. "Because I want to keep you safe. A lot," he adds. "But also I want other things – I mean, I mean, um, I want you to be happy – not that I'm saying you couldn't be, um, without me, um, but I don't want to hurt you, so…" He trails off. She's watching him with an expression that he can't read. "And, um, I, uh, I missed you."

He takes a deep breath, eyeing her face to gauge her reaction. She seems to be waiting for him to say something else. "I really, really missed you, but I, uh, I was scared, because people near me have gotten hurt, and I don't want to hurt you, but I already said that, um." She bites her lip, a small smile curling the side of her mouth. He sighs, long and hard. "Basically, what I want to say is… I, uh, I –" He breaks off, rubbing a hand across his face. "Jeez," he mutters. Why does it have to be so hard to say?

He swallows. "I want to say… I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I pushed you away, but I only did it because I was scared, no, terrified, that you would get hurt or something because of me, and I don't ever want that to happen, I couldn't live with myself if that happened, because I care for you so much it hurts –"

He stops. Her eyes are very wide.

When he speaks again, his voice is a lot quieter, his eyes on his hightops. "And I was wondering if you could forgive me? Because I'm not staying away from you any more." He smiles shyly, crookedly, looking up at her from behind his hair. "Because I love you, you know?" He bites his lip nervously, scuffing one foot. "So, basically, I was wondering, if you'd, uh, have me back?"

She's silent for a second. He studies the toes of his trainers intently. Then he feels her finger pushing his chin up.

He looks at her. She's smiling very, very slightly. He holds his breath, poised on a knife edge above a massive chasm, without any webshooters to break his fall.

"Do you really have to ask that?" she smiles. He blinks percussively, not comprehending. Then she leans up towards him "Of course I will, you insane arachnid."

The rush of joy that fills him is blinding white hot, his face feeling like it may split in two from his wide smile. He understands the words 'beaming smile' now – he feels as if he's shooting sunbeams from his teeth.

He wraps his arms tight around her, inhaling deeply as his face buries itself in her shoulder, her hair brushing his cheek.

"I love you too, Peter."

He pulls back an inch, moving his head towards hers – and then he stops, watching her face. Asking permission.

"Oh, come here, you silly boy," she rolls her eyes, then drags his face down to hers.

He has missed this. He has missed it so much and yet he could never realise how much he'd missed it, missed her until now, the tangle of lips and tongues and hands that affirms that he is hers and she is his in the most basic way possible.

They pull apart, gasping for breath. He's suddenly aware of her hand lying on the small of his back under his jacket. The warmth from it penetrates right through to his skin.

Her face is pale, nervous.

"Hey, it's okay," he says softly. "It's okay." His hand spreads on her back, pulling her close again. "It's okay."

His hand rubs up and down her back as he kisses her again, gentler this time. Her hands are fisting in his tee shirt and his hair, as if she doesn't want to let him go.

He can relate to that.

The kiss deepens, seemingly of its own accord, and he feels like someone has lit him on fire, heat trickling from his core to his extremities, his fingers tingling as he shifts one hand to cradle her head, tangling into her hair. His other hand drags her closer, pushing her hips into his and they both start, lips parting.

He looks down, cheeks flaming. God, Parker, way to go, getting yourself a boner just from a kiss. Way to go.

But she isn't disgusted, or embarrassed, or anything like that. Nevertheless, he tries to step away from her – and gets a shock when she steps with him, pressing herself very deliberately against his body.

"Uh…" he starts to say. He's not sure they should be doing this. Isn't this going too fast, far too fast? But she feels so good and perfect and right, and he wants this, he knows he does –

Her finger comes up to cover his lips. He looks up, startled. Her eyes hold his. "Don't think." She places her hand on his chest, splaying the fingers over his heart. "Listen to your heart again."

He stares at her. And then he's kissing her again, hands tightening on her waist to bring her close.

Her hands push at his jacket and hoodie, sliding them off his shoulders. He lets go of her for a moment so he can drop the heavy garments to the floor, and then slips her cardigan off her.

She bites her lip as she clocks his widened eyes. After all, he's never seen her in this little clothing before. Apparently, she wants to make the situation mutual, and she tugs his shirt off him – and laughs.

"Hey," he says defensively, "it's way too cold tonight to do a full clothes swap on a rooftop!"

Shaking her head, she slips her hands under the spandex and up over his chest, feeling his muscles. He shudders. She smiles a little, then tries to pull the top up.

The difficulty she has with it is quite endearing. In the end he just gently stills her hands and pulls it off himself, trying to remember that she's seen him shirtless before and as such it's not such a big deal but really he knows it is as he drops the red and blue material to the floor, kicking his shoes off.

Her hands are shockingly warm as they trace all over his chest and back and shoulders and stomach and he has to stop himself from shoving his hips into hers again for wont of a bit of friction. But he doesn't do that. Instead, he takes hold of the hem of her camisole. His eyes meet hers for a second, seeking permission, and she nods, raising her arms over her head for him to pull it off.

She bites her lip, and he immediately enfolds her in his arms. "You're beautiful," he mumbles, very aware of the amount of her skin on his. She shivers, so he holds her away to look at her. "Gwen… we don't have to… I mean…"

She takes him, Spidey-sense and all, by surprise when she pushes him down onto her bed. "I thought I told you to stop thinking so much?" she asks, kneeling over him. She trails her hands up his torso, then leans down to kiss him.

He's able to fulfil that request, returning her kiss desperately, hands all over her back. She shifts over him, and the sensation has him sitting bolt upright, smushing her chest into his. She lets out a small whimper, and he pulls back, scared he's hurt her.

"That was a good noise," she says quietly, and the sound is loud in his ears as he watches her pressing him back against the bed, tightening her legs around his hips and then rocking forward. His eyes cross slightly. She does it again and he can't help but move his hips upwards to meet hers as his hands tighten on her waist.

She rocks harder over him, and he groans, pulling her down to his chest and rolling them over. Her hair fans out over the pillow, her face flushed.

Sliding one knee between her legs, he leans down to press a trail of kisses over her collarbones. He then slips his hand under her, and she arches her back to grant him better access to fumble at her bra fastening. Superpowers or not, he's still the same awkward Peter Parker, and so it takes him a while to get it undone. She holds her arms out so that he can pull the white and blue garment away from her upper body. He throws it somewhere over his shoulder, and then tentatively spreads his fingers around one breast, lightly squeezing.

Gwen moans, which he takes as a cue to continue, softly running his thumb over the peak. Her resultant jerk shoves her hips into his, and he groans, before pressing his lips to the other breast.

The noises she makes are definitely good noises, and he works his lips down to her stomach. He slips his hands up to her waist, pushing her skirt up over her thighs and gripping her tights by the waistband. He slides them down to her ankles, long fingers smoothing over her legs, before crawling back up to her waist. She kicks off the tights, then feels him fiddling with the zip on her skirt. She lifts herself partially off the bed, letting him unzip and then tug off her skirt.

She's almost completely bare before him, and he's pretty sure most of the blood in his brain has jumped ship and gone elsewhere. He kneels between her legs, leaning down to kiss her.

His hand travels whisper soft up the inside of her leg, fingers tiptapping like nervous spiders. He's well aware how this will probably go, and he wants it to be good for her. So: ladies first.

He runs one cautious finger across the gusset of her knickers. She bucks, so he does it again. Noticing her readiness, he takes the panties in his hands – and finds himself ripping them off.

"Oh, Jesus, of all the times for the spidey skills to come out," he moans. "I'm so sorry, Gwen, I'll buy you a new pair – " He breaks off, registering a change in her breathing.

What he isn't expecting is to see her eyes darkening, and feel her hand tugging his hair to bring him down to kiss her.

As they kiss, he gently slides his hand between her legs again and mimics his earlier action. She shudders, and he feels it right the way down him.

Carefully, he slips a finger inside her. Her breath comes in a gasp against his lips. His thumb stretches out on instinct, and her moan at both sensations gives him a rush of pleasure.

He quickly learns what she does and doesn't like, scissoring his fingers and rubbing with his thumb. She's starting to rock herself hard against his hand, whimpers and moans spilling out of her parted lips. He gazes at her as she falls apart under his ministrations, wondering at it.

Then she arches her back, keening his name over and over amidst her moans. He has a brief moment when he wishes that he has a camera, in order to preserve her facial expression, but then he realises that's a really creepy thing to be thinking at this stage in the relationship, so instead he presses a kiss to her lips, swallowing her fading sighs.

He removes his hand, somewhat unsure of what to do. Her half-lidded eyes watch in sleepy amusement as he examines his fingers. Going on instinct, he licks them, and her eyes bolt open.

She flips him over onto his back, then drags her hands down from his shoulders to his jeans. He squirms a little under her gaze: she can't miss what's been poking her in the thigh for the last half an hour.

His eyes crash shut as she undoes the button of his jeans and glides her fingers over the spandex below. With some difficulty, she pushes his jeans down his legs, then laughs slightly.

"It doesn't leave much to the imagination, this suit," she comments wrily, before running her fingers up him. He tries not to buck up towards her hand, the sensation like a silk promise.

She tugs at his waistband, trying to get the trousers off, but has to admit defeat. From prior experience, he knows that he has to be stood up to get such clinging trousers off, so he wriggles out from under her and gets to his feet.

Swallowing his embarrassment, he eases the tight material down until he can step out of the garment.

Gwen's face is surprised. "You don't wear - ?"

He blushes scarlet. "No… they look stupid under the suit."

"Spider-Man, conscious about his panty line," she giggles, then reaches towards him. "Come on, you daft boy."

He lets her pull him into bed with her, and there's suddenly a lot more skin than he ever considered that he would be touching. He trails his hands all over her, feeling her shivering under his touch. He pulls the duvet over them both, and she presses herself closer, so he's wrapped in cool sheets and warm Gwen. He hovers over her, pressing kisses to every piece of skin he can reach, caressing her sides.

She reaches out to her bedside table, and passes him a foil packet.

He fumbles to open it, sitting back on his haunches as he holds it in his hand. Then suddenly warm hands enfold him, and he makes a guttural sound as she slides the condom on for him.

"Are you sure?" he asks quietly, barely disguising the tremor in his voice.

"Of course I am. Just… go slow, okay?" Her eyes betray her nerves.

"I love you," he whispers, his hands cupping her face like it's the most precious thing in his world. Then he slips his knee between hers, gently pushing her legs apart. "I love you."

She breathes in raggedly as she looks at him. He knows his face must show some of his fear.

"I'm scared too," she says, then places her hand over his heart again. "Heart, not mind, remember?"

He nods, feeling some of the fear melt away. It's just Gwen and him, him and Gwen, a mantra repeating in his mind as he moves forward.

He's assaulted by sensation as he enters her slowly. His eyes snap up to her face, gauging her reaction. "Go on," she whispers.

Torturously slowly, he presses forward against the barrier – and then it gives way. Gwen's face twists in pain in counterpoint to his own overwhelming fiery want, eyes screwing shut.

"Gwen?"

"Just stop a second," she gasps. Guilt floods him, and he presses kisses to her face until it relaxes. He watches her, trying to ignore the thought telling him that he was about to explode. She nods, wrapping her arms around him. "Go on," she whispers again.

He's nervous about hurting her again as he moves gently, hands holding her waist. Her eyes are shut, but this time her breath is coming in the same way as it did when he touched her earlier, and her hands are gripping his shoulders tightly.

This is something he should have done a long time ago, comes the vague thought.

He's already losing himself to a haze of the feel of her around him, so he almost doesn't hear her small plea.

"Faster," she murmurs, pulling his head down towards her, kissing his neck. He obliges, biting his lip to prevent himself from mumbling a string of profanities mixed in with I love yous. Gwen arches slightly under him, making a sound akin to a purr and the vibrations travel up him and into his core and he heats up again, if it were possible.

He's burning here. It's like she's set him on fire but is also the fire extinguisher, the flaming desire but also the delicious relief and he doesn't think he's going to last much longer so he reaches his hand down between them and she whimpers more than ever, every sound going right through him as she tugs him closer and he sucks at her neck and she moans, wrapping her legs around his waist and god he can't, he can't he can't he can't, and he groans her name, hurriedly rubbing his thumb so she feels it with him.

Her legs tighten pre-emptively, dragging him further in and he moans loudly and then suddenly he's there, and he's mumbling her name, pressing his face into her neck as he thrusts erratically and then he feels her tighten and arch into him and she's gasping his name over and over and over and it sends him further over and he knew he should have come back to her because this is good and perfect and right and he loves her and yes.

He rolls off her, breathing heavily. He quickly disposes of the condom, then practically dives back into bed next to her.

She rests her head on his chest, laying an arm over his stomach which is faintly sticky with sweat. He lets her push his hair up off his forehead, encircling her waist with an arm. He could stay here forever.

"I'm sorry for being a coward," he says quietly.

"Peter Parker, you are the bravest person I know, and one of the smartest. Sometimes, I think the two can't go together. You were trying to do what was right." She presses a kiss to his chest. "But you let your mind come around to your heart, and that's what counts."

He smiles slightly. "I never had much choice when my heart got involved. I was a goner." He pokes her side. "Only you could save me."

"You can't be the superhero in the relationship all the time, Peter. Sometimes, you should just do what feels right, and it'll turn out okay."

"Like tonight?" he asks, meeting her eyes. The question is clear in his eyes. He blushes, looking down.

Her voice comes at his ear. "Tonight is an example when it turns out perfectly."

He resists the urge to beam like a toddler, and hugs her closer.

"I love you," she says. She snuggles into his side.

He kisses the top of her head. "I love you too." He smiles, reaching out to switch off the nightlight. He curls his arms around her, tangling their legs.

The moonlight plays on her face. He strokes a lock of blonde hair off her face. He's done the right thing.

He will protect her. He will not hurt her. They will wake in the morning together and they will face whatever they have to.

Together.

**Yep. I tried to write the opening in a modernist style. Probably failed. Ah well.**

**I hope you liked it. If you did, you know what to do. This is a oneshot, but my head is filled with plotbunnies for this pairing (all together now: OTP! OTP! OTP!)**

***peace out***


End file.
